An Unexercised Soul
by elimeny
Summary: Upon his death, Snape awakens in a familiar park, and is given a choice. That which he never exercised on his own behalf is granted back to him. Let's hope he gets it right this time.
1. Chapter 1: PROLOGUE: Here

**An Unexercised Soul**

**Chapter 1: Here**

A/N: This is my first fanfic, so please forgive my long AN. At this moment, this is a stand-alone one-shot. I have another chapter written, but I am unsure of whether to pursue it or not. Depending on reviews, I may continue it or leave it as it is. If I do continue it, this story will evolve into an SS/HG fic.

I had to title this chapter "Here". I used the word so much in the story that I really had no other way to justify it, heh.

Please review etc etc etc… Seriously though, since this is my first attempt at any type of fanfic, I know I'll need the concrit!

Everything belongs to JKR, of course.

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He was sitting in a small clearing, sparkling sunlight streaming hazily through the gaps between trees. He could feel the soft grass beneath him, and after some time began to realize that he wore no clothing. He did not feel naked, nor did he shiver from any chill. As he lazily looked around him, he saw his robes folded cleanly beside a bush. He reached for them and pulled the clothing on, though he felt no real need to do so. For once, for the first time in months, years, decades, possibly his entire life, he felt completely at ease, with no tension, no worries, no fears or regrets.

The first time in his life?

This sounded strange. Then he began to remember: This wasn't the first time in his life. Because this was no longer his life. He was dead, poisoned and squeezed like an orange until all the redeeming parts of his soul had flowed from his being like a silvery juice. All for the Potter boy, who hated him, who called him a _coward_.

Yet somehow, in this peaceful place, he could not summon his customary sneer, or feel the edges of bitterness that had always surrounded him, jabbing at him. His thoughts seemed to drift lazily towards understanding. Perhaps now, the boy, that Potter brat, understood. Perhaps he watched the memories and understood. And maybe, for once, someone might understand why Severus Snape acted the way he did.

The Potter boy… _Lily's son. _Here his stomach lurched. He had died gazing into Potter's eyes; only they had never seemed to be the property of the boy. They had always been Lily's eyes, and he faintly remembered feeling indignant, as though the child had stolen her eyes. And now it seemed that the bright green in which he had allowed himself to drown was now all around him. The leaves, the grass, the quiet sylvan setting. And in the distance, a set of swings.

Swings?

This was no forest. This was a park. This was not just any park… there was something hauntingly familiar about it. He gazed around, until he saw the flowers… flowers Lily had always loved. It had been her favorite magic, before she knew it was magic. The flowers would open their petals for her, and only her. But he had known, he had understood. He had been the one to give her that knowledge… the knowledge that she was magical. Yet he had never been able to express to her that, for him, she was magical in ways no other witch could ever be.

This was the park where he had discovered Lily.

The only flower in his pathetic existence that had not shrunk away from him. At least, not at first.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember. He _wanted_ to remember now. For so many years the memories had haunted him, assaulting him when he least expected or desired them. He hadn't wanted the memories anymore by the end. He was more than happy to relinquish them to the green eyes in which he fell as his life leaked from the open wounds in his skin.

And yet, even though he had given the memories away, though it had taken every last bit of strength in his body, he still seemed to have them. A copy, only for himself. He could see her, and hear her. He could _hear_ her?

"Sev."

Her voice was low and gentle, like chimes from a church bell. And he smiled – a real smile, as there was no place for sneers or smirks here.

"Sev. Severus!"

He opened his eyes.

_And it was her._

It wasn't just a memory of her, though she seemed to blur slightly at the edges. It was her, as he remembered her, but not just a ghost. She was fifteen or sixteen, but her bright green eyes seemed older. Her dark hair, her auburn mane, seemed to blow gently around her, and he drew in a sharp breath. She was walking towards him, her arms swinging slightly at her sides, but palms facing towards him. She was smiling gently at him.

"Severus. Sev, oh, Sev."

She glided towards him until she was on her knees in front of him, her hands pressed against the grass, her face leaning towards his.

And then she kissed him.

It was a quiet kiss. There was no fire or passion, but it was a gentle kiss across his lips. His eyes closed, and his breathing snagged, threatening to belie something deeper. She pulled away, not lingering long, but she did not rush or flee from his lips. She was still smiling.

"Lily?"

"Sev, you… you are amazing. How did you… why did you… why _didn't_ you…"

"Surely you are capable of composing a coherent sentence, Evans."

His tone was playful, his eyes smiling. She laughed, and he let the sound of the church bell chimes envelop him. So long… it had been so long.

She readjusted herself, and sat next to him, gazing out past the clearing towards the swings. There was no need to speak, though surely there should have been a million questions. He could have gazed at her for hours, for eternity. Yet he felt as though time were limitless, and there was no need to devour the image of her presence. She placed her hand on his, and a foreign warmth spread over his being.

Time passed. Who knows how long? It was meaningless here. It might have been seconds, but it felt like glorious hours. He was sated, like one pleasantly full after a holiday feast, but not sickeningly so. In due time, she began to speak again.

"I never knew, Sev. Why did you never tell me? I never knew your devotion to our friendship was so… eternal."

Her voice was quiet, and curious. She spoke as one wondering, not one pleading, or tempering regret in her words. Time was ephemeral, and they had transcended the opportunity for regret. He said nothing, but closed his eyes yet again, immersing himself in the sound of her voice.

"I suppose I should have known, though I doubt I would have ever understood. But please know, Sev, I always did love you, in my own way. I just… I was unable to love you in _your_ way."

He smiled sadly, and shook his head.

"I know. You were… beautiful. Pure. I would never have been able to explain to you how I felt. It would have seemed… wrong. Tainted. And truly, even had it not been for that day, the day of our exam, it may never have come to anything anyway.

I would never have been able to love you without the need to possess you. Until I lost you to… well, to Potter… well. I coveted you. I wanted you for my own. I know that I would never have been able to love you the way you wanted. You could never find love in being owned. Not that you would have ever let me attempt to own you."

In another time, in another place, his words may have sounded bitter. But _here, _they were light and honest. He spoke the truth, and not unkindly so.

She was watching him speak now, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She understood, and he somehow knew she understood, without the need to use Legilimens to confirm his suspicion. Here, in this place, everything seemed clear. Here he was safe. He had assumed this was heaven, his own personal heaven. He need not fear her rejection, or her disgust. Surely even in the heaven of the ill-fated and unlucky Severus Snape this would not be allowed? Besides, her hand had not shrunk from his, and as long as he felt her contact, as long as the warmth remained to reassure him, he could channel himself through it.

"You know, you might have been a _bit_ more pleasant to Harry. You certainly didn't make things easy for him."

He chuckled warmly.

"Ah, yes. I saved his life on multiple occasions, and I gave over my entire existence to protecting him. That was for you. The hell I forced him to endure every time he was in my presence… well, that was for your dear James. Forgive me. I needed an outlet. I already confessed my weaknesses, and never have I claimed, nor desired, to be a Gryffindor."

She laughed again, and did not seem affronted or indignant by his words against James, or his crimes against her son. It seemed that in the end, the sacrifice and the effort he had made on Harry's behalf was more than enough to absolve him for his crimes against the boy. Even in the eyes of his mother.

Her laughter quieted, and he saw a line crease her brow. She gnawed on her lip, and seemed to be considering something unpleasant. Here, it was out of place. Here, it was not unlike a black bat flying amongst a flock of cardinals. It was strange and foreign, and musn't be allowed to continue. Not _here_.

"Lily? What is it?"

She sighed, and turned to him. Not just her eyes, but her entire body. She held his hand in her lap, and searched his eyes with confusion, and then determination.

"It's not fair, Sev."

"What isn't fair?" he returned.

"This. This isn't enough. Please do not misunderstand me. I am of course grateful for your sacrifices… for your love, regardless of whether or not I would have ever been able to comprehend or return it. In fact, that's the point. It's not fair that you lived out your entire life in love with me. I was never able to return it, I never would have understood it, and you have proven you deserve more than that. It's not fair that your life ended with me, or rather, without me."

He shook his head, slightly confused.

"It _is_ enough. You are _here_. You are here now. This, this is enough. This is all I ever wanted or needed."

Her eyes softened sadly. Her brows furrowed in pity.

"This isn't enough, Sev. This isn't real. This isn't living. This is like a glass of cold, clear water that will never quench the thirst, never truly refresh. This will never be true satisfaction. Nor is it eternal. I cannot give you that which you seek; even in afterlife, I cannot give you the satisfaction that you deserve. This is not a settled reward. This is a transition. You have to choose."

He felt it then. The slight frustration settled deep within his core. No, not this… he did not want this. He had been so happy, so content here. But now she had opened his eyes to what this was, though it may only be defined by what it _wasn't_. No, it was not real. His eyes drifted to her slightly blurred edges. In the end, she was still not his. It was pleasant enough to be near her… but even he could recognize that proximity was not possession, and even in this state, even _here_, he could feel the underlying need to know that she was his. Even _here_, where all bitterness and weakness and all Snape-like atrocities were set aside, he was still Severus. He still needed to possess. They were in a limbo, and even though there was no alarm set to go off when time was up, even though there seemed to be no real time restriction, it was still as though all were in a stasis spell. Everything waiting… for him?

She was like a beautiful wizard portrait. He could see her, and even hear her. But he realized now that he could not smell her. Because there was no hunger here, there had been no taste when she had lightly kissed him earlier. And though her hand felt warm holding his, he recognized that there was no real bulk to it, no weight. She was seemingly intangible, unattainable even in his heaven. She was not the one, she was still _gone_. She was dead, he was dead, and even in death, they could not be together, for she had never relinquished her heart to him in life. Though he felt no regret, he recognized the hollowness, the lack of real definition, the lack of any real existence.

Even in the beauty of a heaven-like place, the sadness of death did not escape notice.

Despite all these realizations, he did not crumble. Here, where every feeling and response seemed boiled down to the simplest of equations, here he felt wistful, but not distraught. There was no longer any regret.

Her arms reached for him, and he gratefully allowed her to hold him. She rested her weightless chin on his bulk-less head. He felt her skin, but heard no heartbeat. Though he breathed evenly, it seemed unnecessary. Yet he refused to stop drawing in the surrounding air, faintly hoping that he might catch her scent if he breathed deeply enough.

It was not to be, however. It was never to be.

"Do you understand now, Sev?"

He sighed deeply, and nodded. Every feeling, every emotion, every reaction, every response seemed ephemeral, unreal, lacking in any real depth. The pleasure he felt in her company was not the overwhelming joy he might have expected. The sadness he felt at her inevitable departure was not crashing down upon him. Everything was transparent, nothing was real. And even a deep shuddering sadness is better than an emotion that seems merely to skim the surface.

"So, this is death then."

He did not question her, he merely stated what was obvious. With a smirk evident by the tone of her voice, however, she responded.

"Not exactly, Sev. I told you. This is transition."

He slowly pulled away from her, and looked into her eyes, confused. She smiled back warmly.

"Transition? Transition to what? From life, from death… to what?"

She smiled wider and shrugged. Here it seemed that answers were more unnecessary than questions.

"I have… to choose." Snape struggled to understand.

Her face became more serious.

"Yes. You must choose."

"I fail to understand precisely what I am supposed to choose. Death? Or life?"

"Maybe. Sure, it could be that."

"Do you mean… do you mean I am able to return?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? And what will death be like, should I choose it?"

Lily shrugged yet again. "Dunno. It's different for everyone, really."

"Lily, your answers are beyond ambiguous, and were you my student, I would be taking 20 points from Gryffindor right now for pure insolence. Surely you can provide a more reasonable explanation than that."

She laughed quietly, and opened her arms as if to encourage his embrace of the surroundings.

"No, I really can't, Sev. It is what it is, which is mostly defined, right now, by what it isn't. I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's not supposed to. If you go back, it will never be easy. It may not even be possible, and the attempt alone will be miserable, if not excruciatingly painful. If you continue on this path… well, it will be easy, but it will not be satisfying. It's death. What exactly did you expect?" She ended with a rolling of her eyes.

Truth be told, he had rather expected to spend death in a place not unlike the dungeons in which he had spent the majority of his life.

"What point would there be in returning anyway? I am loathed by the whole of the wizarding world, and will merely be a target for any death eaters that survive, and that is assuming your son is successful in defeating the Dark Lord."

"I would say that's a pretty safe assumption."

"Oh? Do you have special privileges here that alert you to the current events out… Out there? A powerful new gift of Divination?"

She chuckled, then smiled sadly at Snape.

"He's my son, Sev. I _am_ watching him, all the time. I'm always with him. He may not know it, but I'm always there. I was always with you, and you never knew it. I'm not a ghost, but I do have an existence on some level, intangible though it may be. He will die, as you have done, and he will have a choice as well. He will choose to return. I know his heart, I know his mind. He will choose to return, and he will finish Voldemort."

Snape was taken aback. Slowly, understanding coursed through him. Now that he saw what Death led to, now that he was in his own… transition zone as it were, he understood what Albus had never been able to explain. He had thought Dumbledore was using the boy, like a stuffed pig fattened for the ending feast. He understood now that the former headmaster was far more powerful and all-knowing than anyone had ever known. He wondered if death would render him like Lily – watching over those he loved. Except… the only person he had ever really loved was sitting cross-legged in front of him, watching him carefully, cheerfully, curiously. In death, whom would he watch?

"So then, you are saying that should I return, the Dark Lord will be vanquished, and all will be well?"

"No, I am not saying that. I cannot promise you eternal happiness if you struggle to return, Sev. It doesn't work that way. Your life was never a pleasant one, even before Voldie came to power."

Snape snorted. "Voldie? My, but aren't you a cheeky one in death."

She grinned. "It's not like he can kill me twice! He won't ever find himself left with a choice. He won't ever be anyplace like here. You get to have a choice. Not everyone gets that opportunity, and he least of all. You still had a soul when you died, and your sacrifices, your devotion to Love, all that was good in you, though you worked so very hard to conceal it, all that granted you a choice. You lived your whole life for someone else, Sev. When I died, you no longer lived your life for yourself – you lived it for me, fulfilling _my_ purposes. So, it's unfinished business. When good people die having given over the entirety of their lives for someone else, it leaves a hole. It leaves a soul that never was exercised for one's self. It's a debt that can be repaid, should you choose it."

He considered all this information. He scoffed at the idea of Severus Snape being defined as a "good person." But… a choice. Of course, he had always had choices in his life, and he could accept, without the pulling, dragging feeling of regret that had cursed his existence, that he had made many bad choices. But the good choices he made, however sullenly, no matter how begrudgingly, he had always made those choices out of Love. Those few good choices he _had_ made had changed the course and direction of his life, and led him… _here._

But could he fathom returning? Could he ever return to a life that now held no real meaning? With the Dark Lord dead, with Dumbledore dead, with _Lily_ still dead… was there any purpose in going back to a life that would inevitably be peppered with more sadness, misery, and struggle? She was right of course. His life had never been a pleasant one, even before "Voldie" came to power. Why would any of that change upon his return? He could recognize that perhaps he would be forgiven for his perceived crimes, his misunderstood "murder" of Dumbledore, and many of his other atrocities that had been for the greater good. But even with all those misunderstandings rectified, he would still be Severus Snape. Unloved, unloving, and incapable of enjoying anything. It seemed hopeless and pointless. Yet, when he considered a death like Lily's, watching over others, he found no satisfaction there either. There was no one he cared to watch. Then, a question struck him.

"You died. You were certainly a prime example of, how did you phrase it? Ah, yes. 'Good person.' You died to save your son. Certainly you had a choice. Why did you not choose to return?"

Her lingering smile faded.

"I did not have a choice. I lived. I loved. I still love. I was blessed with a husband who loved me, whom I loved in return. I adored my son. I was happy. My life and the blessings within it may have been short-lived, and may have been deserved, but I still got to live and love. I died for my son, yes. But surely any decent mother would die for her son in such a situation. Had I not done so, my life would have been misery. My son would have died, my husband would still be dead, but I would have lived. And it would have been a horrible existence. You don't understand, Sev. You didn't die for your son, or for your spouse, or for anyone who openly loved or needed you. You did not die for the love that you had. You died for the memory of the love you were never given. You died to save all the things and people you were never given the opportunity to possess. Don't you see? The difference is that my life did not remain unlived. It was short, to be sure, but I took full advantage of it while I had it. You did not, but only because you were too busy living for other people."

She continued to gaze at him, desperate for him to understand.

"Few are given this choice, and I fully recognize it is not an easy choice to make. I suppose the choice is between that which is unpredictable, but offers the many opportunities of love and grief, the depth of feeling and emotion, and a peaceful, though never fully satisfying, ceaseless existence.

But you were never given the full opportunity to be loved, Sev. And love is something that every good person deserves. You earned your right to something you were never given a real chance to have. There is something of a… well, a karma debt owed to you."

Snape lifted an eyebrow.

"Now we speak of Karma?"

Lily laughed, but then her face became serious again.

"Something like that, yes."

Snape sighed and gazed off into the clearing again. The hollowness and lack of any real depth of emotion _was_ beginning to bother him. His whole life had been drenched in grief, sorrow, agony, misery… unpleasant feelings, to be sure, but feelings nevertheless. He had grown accustomed to them, and in truth, it was hard to recognize himself without them as a backdrop. He had constructed his entire personality in response to feelings of misery, in expectation of a dystopian existence, and now… the foundation of emotions had fallen away, and he felt as though he were seeking something familiar against which he could lean, yet finding only open air.

Shallow. Everything felt shallow, primarily pleasant, but shallow in any case. Severus Snape was never one to appreciate the shallow.

Lily seemed to know that he was considering returning, and she smiled. "I think it's the right choice, Sev. You should go back. You should love, for yourself."

His gaze returned to her, and again he felt sad, and somewhat hopeless.

"Lily, I… There is no one for me to love. There is only you, there has only ever been you. I could never love someone other than you. It's still you, always."

She had been smiling kindly, but now her face stretched into a mischievous grin again.

"You don't actually know that. You have always been so devoted to me, so wrapped up in me, that you never noticed anyone else around you. Not really. Women could have thrown their hearts at your feet, and you would have never even seen them. I told you I've been watching you all along, Sev. Women _have_ thrown themselves at you, and aside from a plethora of one night stands, you have entirely ignored the poor sluts."

Snape shook his head before she had even finished, rolling his eyes and scoffing.

"It's not even about whether someone else could love me. That idea is so silly and preposterous that it hardly merits consideration, let alone discussion. Regardless, I would never be able to love anyone else. " At the last words, his voice had faded into a whisper, and sadness had seeped in again.

Her smirk faded, and she searched in his eyes, exploring their depths, preparing her response.

"Look at me, Sev."

He obeyed. Her voice was steady with authority.

"I'm dead. I'm not coming back. I was never really there, not how you wanted me. You were in love with a fantasy, an illusion. While that love certainly managed to sustain you somehow, and undoubtedly saved your soul and the lives of many, it was a love that was one-sided and would never have been returned."

He hated her words. Ever single one of them hit him like tiny pinpricks, and for the first time he was grateful for whatever permeated the air here and dulled every emotion, every sense. Had it not been for that, the pinpricks would have been gashes from a machete.

"Stop, please. Please, Lily." His words were spoken in a certain tone of pleading he had refused to use during his adult life.

"No. You need to listen to me. It's important, because you are entirely missing the point. Your life seemed to be one great tragedy after another. It's unfair, but it's not as though you did anything to rectify it. Don't get me wrong," Here, her voice softened. "I'm grateful. Eternally grateful. I could never repay the debt I owe, nor could Harry. But please listen to me, because this is the important part. This is crucial to the decision you make about whether or not to return.

You will not forget this place. You will not forget me. This is not just a transition, Sev. There is a reason I came to greet you. This is closure. You need closure. You have not been able to love anyone else, because you never had closure; you remained devoted to me, and I was never able to properly set you free from that bind, because I never really knew about it. But I am here now, in some form at least, and I can release you of that."

Suddenly she lurched forward, surprisingly ungraceful, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips found his, yet the surprise was not enough to deaden his response. His arms snaked around her blurred edges, and he sought something… anything… in the depths of her kiss.

But there was nothing there, nothing to be devoured. There was no hunger here, and with no hunger, there could be no fulfillment.

She continued to kiss him, but there was no passion. At length, he pulled away, and stared at her with a childlike pain and confusion in his eyes. One he had worn on many occasions throughout their school years together.

She returned his expression, and whispered, "See what I mean, Sev? It's not me, it never has been. Don't be sad, no, please don't be sad Severus. Don't regret. Don't hurt. It's all over now, and it doesn't matter. None of it matters, now that it's all been done." She seemed to be rambling nonsense words, but they were comforting regardless. He didn't understand, he didn't see what she meant. But her words were soothing, and it didn't hurt as much.

She rested her head on his shoulder, while continuing her rambling words. "In the end… in the end, this is what you wanted, isn't it? This is what you _thought_ you wanted. But what you _need_ is a love that can be returned. And this will never be that. But see, that isn't your fault. If you let me go, you would have the chance to love and be loved. You don't have to forget. It seems it's not in your nature to bend your love and devotion to more than one person at a time. You were never able to love someone else, because you were still living for me. But if you go back… you don't have to live for me anymore. You have done your duty, fulfilled the silent vows you made but never confessed. You can go back, and you can live for yourself, and you can try to love this time."

He was shaking his head, he was shuddering. He was grateful for the lack of feeling, but he also wanted to feel. He felt enough to be torn between the gratitude and the desire for opposite things.

"Yes, Sev. It has to be this way. You have to let me go. I can never bring you happiness, I can never bring you love. And you should go back and take what you deserve. You have to let me go. Let me go, Sev."

She repeated herself until he finally acquiesced. She had, after all, always been a determined girl. He had to let her go, and he had to go back. Seeing her, and not being able to have her had been enough to remind him of what he really wanted, what he had never been able to acquire. Finally, he nodded, and she held him tightly.

He felt a strange tugging in his chest, as though he were Apparating, though his surroundings did not change. He sat up, a confused look on his face. She looked at him questioningly, and then seemed to understand, though he did not.

"You're being called back, Sev. They are trying to pull you back."

"They? Who?"

Lily shrugged. "Does it really matter? You have a choice to make. You can do everything differently this time."

The slight tugging continued within him, though it did not grow stronger. He was not being rushed into a decision. But the tugging made another feeling clearer to him… he wanted to go back. He wanted to try again. Sure, he would still be Severus Snape, grouchy and sullen and sallow faced, cursed with a hooked nose and greasy hair, but in spite of it all, he already missed being able to feel. It seemed that the release he had long sought from his own pain was not nearly as relieving as he had once imagined. He looked up at Lily.

"I hope you are not suggesting that a return requires me to stop putting dunderheads in detention."

She grinned at him, and stood up, reaching for his hand again. He stood as well, and placed his hand in hers. She pointed towards the swings.

"I hear you've learned to fly without a broomstick. Took you long enough. I've known how to fly since I was 9."

He chuckled, and she led him towards the swingset, seating herself in the swing next to his. He sat as well, and she began to push forward, pumping her legs to gain height. He eyed her movements suspiciously.

"Oh c'mon Sev. If you're going back, you're going to have to learn how to enjoy simple things, silly things."

Grudgingly, he began to move forward as well, until he was rocking back and forth in the air. Whatever Lily might say, there was no way he would ever allow anyone to see Severus Snape, Potions Master and one time Headmaster of Hogwart's giddily pumping his legs on a child's swingset.

The gentle tugging in his chest continued, and began to grow stronger. For the first time _here_ he began to feel real pain. He continued to swing next to Lily despite the pain, but sharp agony seemed to pierce his neck, his arms, his chest, and he gasped, staggering. His feet began to fumble and drag across the gravel beneath the swings.

Lily smiled sadly at him as she soared. "I know, Sev. I know. Just keep flying. It's just going to get worse, but go with it."

He was truly gasping in pain now, and wanted to stop swinging, wanted to stop moving his legs. Lily urged him forward anyway. "Fly, Sev! Fly!"

As his agonizing pain seemed to come to a head, Lily let go, and was flying. He released his hold on the swing, and found himself flying as well, but not landing. The pain, Merlin, the pain… it was worse than the Cruciatus curse. He heard her, faintly, calling behind him.

"Fly Sev! Fly! And this time… don't stop…"

Her voice faded away into the background as he crashed forward into… life. Again.

And all the pain and anguish that been stifled by his transition zone now came into sharp, exceedingly pointed and brutal, focus.


	2. Chapter 2: Resurrectus Severi Snapi

CHAPTER 2 – Resurrectus Severi Snapi

AN: I am determined to find a use for those seven agonizing years of Latin. Please note that as I have decided to continue this story, the Lily/Severus ship has docked. Let the Hermione/Severus one sail!

The previous chapter may have presented Snape as somewhat OOC. Let's bring back the snarky, shall we? Don't worry, he will return in full snark mode eventually. He's a little weak and vulnerable right now, what with that whole death thing.

As a side note, I am putting together an outline of where and how I want this story to go, but until I establish that, I'm sort of winging it, and thus the slow chapters. I am beta-bereft, and if there is anyone who would like to help me with my story, I would greatly appreciate it! I do not have too many problems with grammar or spelling, but punctuation does not like me. Most of all though, I could really use a second set of eyes to help me pull out any plot holes, inconsistencies, or advise me on where to go. Brit-picking would be handy too!

DISCLAIMER: Gimme a J! Gimme a K! Gimme an R! What's that spell? Not my name.

Hermione ran from the great hall. She pushed through the weepers and the clappers, past those celebrating the demise of the last dark wizard, not slowing for the ones sprawled out in agony over deaths of loved ones.

If she had things her way, there would be one less death tonight.

Her feet stumbled across the grass, the roots, and even a few moaning bodies, but she would not allow herself to be distracted. If there were a higher power, if there were any goodness in the world, if only there were enough time, and enough miracles to go around tonight, maybe, just maybe…

Maybe Severus Snape did not have to die.

When she came upon the Whomping Willow, she noted the drooping of the branches with some surprise. It seemed even the violent tree was affected by the evening's excitement. As she approached the knob that would open a passageway beneath, she held her breath, fearing a right hook directed from the limbs. But no strike came, and with a relieved sigh, she entered the passageway towards the Shrieking Shack. Maybe this was a sign?

She ran through the corridor, mindless of the bumps and bruises she would doubtless find in the morning from her falls and stumbles. Finally, _finally_, she reached the door and threw it open in her hurry.

He was still in the same position, slumped against the wall, blood drenched and paler than even before. If anything could be done for him, she would have little time in which to do it.

When they had left him there before, flask of memories in hand, she had felt a pang of guilt, though she had not understood why. All three had felt it. In spite of what Professor Snape had done, in spite of how he had treated them through the past 7 years, they had all felt the twinge of sorrow upon witnessing his death.

Did anyone deserve to die that way? Even the hated murderer of Albus Dumbledore?

But now, now everything made sense. After the showdown in the Great Hall, after Harry had proudly assaulted Voldemort with the words "He was Dumbledore's man", after hearing how his love for Harry's mother had completely altered his existence, everything had clicked into place.

She had never been able to hate him. This was, in part, due to the fact that regardless of everything, he was her Professor. And it was not in Hermione Granger's nature to ever disrespect or suspect a Professor. The exceptions to this rule of venerating her mentors were certainly noteworthy, but really, she respected those who had real knowledge, not hazy, incense coated hunches like those of Trelawney.

To Harry and Ron, Severus Snape as the "bad guy" made sense. It made everything they knew about him click into proper place. To Hermione, however, it had never sat properly, and not until she heard from Harry mouth what he had seen in Snape's memories did things begin to make sense. She had been the one most desperate to know what were in his silvery memories. If not for her quick conjuring of a flask, Harry might have simply walked away, uncaring, though not unmoved.

She stared down at the mutilated body on the floor, and fell to her knees. She felt like weeping at the injustice of it all. She was sickened, not by the sight of her former Professor's torn and tattered body, but by the fact that she was the only one here to see it. Where were the crowds of people running forth to see if _this_ hero might be saved? They had left him for dead, deciding, seemingly, that it was easier to appreciate a hero when he wasn't around to sneer at them. Hypocrites, the whole lot of them.

She emptied the pockets of her robes, spilling various potions, vials, magical bandages, and salves out across the floor. She quickly thumbed through the pages of one of the books she had carried with her, _Visceral Venoms and their Antidotes_, stolen from, ironically enough, a private lab connected to the potions classroom. She had found it strange that this room had been left opened, for she had always known it to be a private area allotted only for Professor Snape. She had had no time to wonder why the sullen headmaster had still been using the private lab, nor why it had been open, though she supposed that the attack on the school had disrupted many wards.

On the table in the lab had been various bottles and ingredients, and she had been able to snatch all the items, including the book, up into her robes in very little time, without even checking clearly to see what she might need were she to attempt to perform this…

Resurrection. For surely there could be no other word to describe what the body in front of her required.

She pushed her head against his chest, but heard no heartbeat. Her fingers against his scarred and bloodied wrists detected no signs of a pulse. She let out a heavy sigh of resignation, but did not slow her efforts to repair his wounds. She refused to give up without doing everything she could to try to save him. He was a hero, and he deserved more than to be left abandoned in an old wooden shack, where he had been humiliated so many times before.

She began performing every healing charm she could remember. She cleaned his robes and mutilated skin of the blood. She used every last drop of her precious Essence of Dittany. She skimmed through the book, desperately seeking possible antidotes, fumbling through the labeled bottles and salves, using anything that might help.

Strangely enough, it seemed the Professor had concocted several of the antidotes within the book, and had labeled the bottles appropriately. Again, she wondered how he could have known, why he would have prepared for a snake attack, but the thought was merely fleeting in light of more important matters.

Though she was no mediwitch, after cleaning his robes and exposed skin of blood, she found that the snake did not appear to have actually bitten Snape in more than one place. She applied some salve to the small bite at his neck, where it seemed Nagini had done little other than nip Snape in a "loving kiss", and wondered at all the blood. The other slashes in his skin appeared to have been made by the tight coils of the snake itself, and she tried not to think about how tightly the snake must have bound the Professor in order to actually break his skin. Instead, she started in on her other book, one she had snatched from the healers who had been looking over the bodies strewn about the castle: _Broken Hearts and Bones: Advanced Healing Charms for the Battered and Bruised_.

She had been bandaging, charming, antidoting and murmuring for nearly an hour before there was any sign of change. And when she felt a slight twitch coming from the veins within Snape's wrist, she did not trust it at first. She continued with her various multi-faceted ministrations, determined neither to quit, nor to break down into the long overdue tears, until a movement caused her to shriek in surprise and jump back.

Severus Snape had opened his eyes.

In fact, it had been very sudden. His eyelids had snapped open, and had been watching Hermione work for five minutes before she had even bothered to look at his face, as she had been too busy murmuring detection charms over his chest, cringing when she detected the broken ribs and battered organs within.

Now she was standing three feet away, looking at him with pure fear and shock. He was _alive_, though she had no idea if he might _stay _alive. In fact, she had held so little hope in her abilities, that she had completely forgotten to steal, er, _borrow,_ any pain suppression potions, as was evident in the way he cringed, and the agony that shone in his eyes.

She fell back on the floor in front of him, scrambling, moaning, "Oh Professor, I'm so sorry… you must be in unbearable pain, I'm so terribly sorry…" She frantically reached for her book again, desperately seeking a charm that might lessen the pain at the very least.

Though he had opened his eyes, he had evidently not regained the strength or ability to speak, or even move. In agony he watched her poring through the pages of her text, and when she looked up, he glared pointedly at a small vial that had fallen into the corner.

Understanding immediately, she grabbed at the unlabeled vial that Snape had seemed to recognize, and uncorked it, quickly lifting it to his lips and emptying it. She had no idea what it was, but it seemed to bring him immediate relief in some measure.

She watched him as his eyes closed, absorbing the effects of the draught, and she felt helpless yet again. She had done everything she could, and the limits of her severely limited knowledge of healing spells (albeit, probably still enough to earn her a position at St. Mungo's – She was Hermione Granger, after all) had been exhausted. She searched his eyes, his face, his chest, for any sign of visible improvement, and cast more injury detection charms when the visuals had provided no evidence of relief.

Professor Snape, wincing, managed to carefully and slowly shake his head at her. He was only able to make one movement of his neck before the agony of the effort showed on his face. She touched him gently on the shoulders, saying only, "Don't."

His eyes opened and he looked at her again. His dark gaze startled her, and she felt naked. She felt embarrassed, as though saving the life of one's Professor was certainly breaching some code of conduct. She did not blush, but looked into his eyes again, trying to understand in case he sought something else from her. She knew not what else she could do.

They sat there, staring at one another, for what seemed like hours, though it could only have been a few minutes that passed. She had begun to feel quite uncomfortable under his searing, questioning gaze, and scrambled about for something meaningful to say that would require no response.

She looked at him pleadingly. "Please, sir. Please. I couldn't just… I couldn't just leave you here to die! Not after… everything you've done for us. The doe in the woods… the sword… everything. Everyone knows now, or at least, they know part of it. I don't even know the whole story, but everyone knows about… about… about Mrs. Potter…"

_Mrs. Potter indeed. I'll be sure to send a note of gratitude to the Boy Who Never Shut Up, _Severus thought.

He furrowed his brow, and she saw a flash of anger boil into fire in his eyes. What had she said that had angered him? She was at a complete loss mentally, but never being one at a loss verbally, she continued, frantically.

"I mean, I always knew… I always knew on some level that you couldn't be, well that you couldn't be… _evil_," she whispered. "I knew there was something else to it. Surely everyone else will know that as well, once everything has been explained, once the story has been let out."

His eyes narrowed in even further anger. This was not going well at all. She flung about for a change of topic in the one-sided discussion.

"You weren't actually bitten. Well, not badly anyway. Just one small bite on the neck. I was able to neutralize the venom, at least I think so, because there really wasn't very much. Unfortunately, you were left here so long, that even such a small amount of venom can have disastrous consequences if left to linger." Her voice faltered at the end, and the shame and regret of having abandoned the hero alone in the shack for so long quieted her, and she hung her head like a chastised child.

He was still watching her face, and at her forlorn expression, the hard edge of his eyes had dissolved. He did not seem to blame her, though she did not seem to notice. It was not that Severus never betrayed kindness in his eyes. It was simply that no one ever seemed to pay attention when he did. He remembered how many times Lily had ignored his eyes when they had shown kindness, or embarrassment, or naked love and devotion. He had long since decided that it was probably better that no one ever noticed anyway. Such putrid displays of emotion were a sign of weakness. He wanted to sigh, but the delicate balance of breathing between all the broken bones in his body held him captive.

Once again, she began looking over his injuries. Superficially, he seemed to have healed well, though he would apparently retain the striping scars circling his body. Internally, however, was another story. She knew of his injuries. She reached within her robes for a bottle (stolen again of course) of Skele-gro. His eyes settled on the bottle with resolute acceptance.

"I know… it will be agony. That's why I hadn't given it to you yet. Between your other injuries, and the healing wounds, and the venom… But I don't know how else to repair all your broken ribs and other bones, Professor. I could run and find Madame Pomfrey, but I am afraid to leave you in such a fragile state. There may still be some Death Eaters running around, and they know enough of your story to realize you were not a spy on _their _side, and who knows how long it would take for Madame Pomfrey to get here, because," her voice hitched, "well, there are a lot of… a lot of bodies to take care of."

His eyes opened wider at her words, and he winced again, as he licked his lips. He tried to swallow, and his adam's apple bobbed slowly. He tried to speak, and his voice came out in a gargled whisper.

"Miss… Miss Granger, I…"

"No! Don't speak! Merlin, it must be pure agony for you!"

She conjured a glass of water, and lifted it to his lips. He took a grateful sip, but swallowing seemed to be excruciatingly painful. She winced and cringed, almost as though she could feel the physical agony he was enduring.

_Well_, she thought, _looks like I've found one career path that I'll never be able to follow. I can't very well be a Healer if the sight of someone else's pain is so miserable for me!_

They had returned to the uncomfortable silence, staring at one another, the bottle still in her hands. Her eyes seemed to be pleading with him for forgiveness for the pain she was no doubt thrusting upon him.

His gaze still seemed to be searching her, trying to understand _why_ she was doing this. Why not just let him die? Why not just walk away? Why was this silly girl so intent on _saving him_? The thought of being _saved_ by any member of the Golden Trio made him want to wretch. The memory of being _saved_ yet again in the Shrieking Shack reminded him of a different humiliation from deeper in his past, and he wanted to lash out at Miss Granger. Was it some sort of misguided attempt at Gryffindor honor? Normally this might sicken him, but he thought again of Lily's words.

_If you go back, it will never be easy. It may not even be possible, and the attempt alone will be miserable, if not excruciatingly painful._

Well she had been right about one thing so far. It was definitely excruciatingly painful.

As Hermione watched his eyes, he seemed to settle on something. He glanced at the bottle of inevitable agony she wielded, and then back up into her eyes. He nodded, or at the very least, twitched his head in a downward direction to give her his approval.

She groaned and closed her eyes, knowing how difficult it would be to watch this. But watch she would. She would not be yet another hypocrite who abandoned Professor Snape. Harry and Ron and all the others would get on just fine without her for what remained of the night. Though she ached to console Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys for their loss, not to mention the many losses others had sustained during the battle, she felt that ensuring there was not another death to add to the numbers took precedence.

She brought the bottle to his lips, and tipped it forward to administer a considerable dosage. If Snape found the taste disgusting, his face did not show it. The potions master had evidently had his share of poor-tasting draughts. He winced while swallowing, but then straightened his face. He was in for a rough night, but the effects would not be immediately painful.

Hermione looked around the shack for the second time that evening. She summoned an old tattered blanket from another corner, and transfigured a broken crate into a soft pillow. She set these aside, and turned to the Professor, who was eyeing her cautiously.

"Professor, please. I know this will be unpleasant, but I am going to move you, so that you can lie down. You have to get some sleep."

He snapped his eyes back to hers, and the panicked look in them rendered her momentarily speechless. She returned his gaze with her own confused eyes. Then understanding spread through her, and warmed her. She had never seen Severus Snape betray any fear, but it seemed that he expected her to leave, and this fact, for whatever unknown reason, frightened him. Had she considered it more thoroughly, she probably would have imagined herself one of the top five members of a list of creatures near which Severus Snape least likely wished to sleep. Right up there with Harry Potter, Voldemort, and Nagini.

She stood, looking around her and evaluating her surroundings again, seeking suitable objects for transfiguring. She eyed a dusty, torn remnant of a sliced curtain, and transfigured it into a quilt. Summoning yet another crate, she transfigured it into a smaller pillow for herself. She Scourgified the dusty blanket she had summoned earlier, and placed it on the floor again. Eyeing the hard floor with distaste, she transfigured the last two wooden crates into small, light mattresses.

When she looked at him again, he seemed to understand her actions. The panic had disappeared from his eyes, returning the calculating, searching look to which he had earlier defaulted. He still seemed suspicious of her. While she found this slightly annoying, it occurred to her that perhaps Severus Snape had never been one to allow anyone in his presence when he was at his weakest. And she had certainly never seen him so weak and defenceless. She imagined that, knowing what little she did about the ex-death eater, he would most likely be mortified, and resolved to make him as comfortable as she could in every way possible.

She laid the mattresses side by side on the floor, and placed the blankets and pillows nearby. Now she faced the broken body of Professor Snape with the eye of one attempting to solve an Arithmancy equation. She _could, _if she were exceedingly careful, use the Mobilicorpus charm to move him onto the mattress, but she was unsure if she could control his body carefully enough to avoid any further injuries. And, as lanky as the Professor might be, he was also at least 6 inches* taller than her, which may prove difficult if she attempted to move him without magic.

Finally, she decided to use Levicorpus, and as she focused all her magical energies on not dangling him to the ceiling by one foot, she slowly moved the cringing Severus Snape to a slightly more comfortable place on the small mattress. It looked as though the movements were exceedingly painful for the Professor, but she forced herself to ignore his face, and focused her attention on controlling the careful movements of the spell.

Finally he rested on the mattress, gasping for air, clenching and unclenching his fists. She rested on her knees next to him, and carefully arranged the pillow underneath his head. She summoned the transfigured quilt, and gently laid it across him. As his breathing slowed, he eyed her movements carefully, as though inspecting her movements in an exam. He seemed to be tensely expecting her to drop something on his broken chest. She smiled and chuckled as she lay on the mattress next to him, pulling the old blanket over her legs. Lying on her side, facing him, she smiled as he glared up at the ceiling.

"Professor Snape, you are certainly not a very gracious man."

His only response was to switch his glare to _her_ instead.

*Ack! Should this be centimeters? Brits please advise .


	3. Chapter 3: Astringere Terminos Exolutos

A/N: I have "read" the entire Harry Potter series about 20 times. However, I don't actually have copies of the books – I've listened to all of them, repeatedly, on Audiobook (3 Jim Dale!). Therefore, I may occasionally misspell or improperly capitalize certain HP world only words. Please let me know if I have done so! (that's actually just another excuse to get you to review… reviews are wonderful and addictive!!)

Disclaimer: JKR probably knew where her story was going as she wrote it. I, on the other hand, am totally making it up as I go along. Thus, proof that it rightfully all belongs to her.

CHAPTER 3: _Astringere Terminos Exolutos_

Harry looked up to see Hermione walking briskly into the Great Hall the next morning. He rose from his seat and began to run towards her, but stopped as he saw her grasp the arm of one of the various healers sent from St. Mungo's who still remained to administer healing to the few with minor injuries who still remained. Hermione leaned her head towards the healer's ear and gestured franticly as the whispered. Harry began to walk towards the pair again as he saw the look of shock and surprise on the healer's face. She broke contact with Hermione and trotted out of the Great Hall, grabbing another healer, and gesticulating wildly out the door as she moved.

Hermione seemed about to follow the two healers until she saw Harry. He took in her exhausted face and especially-bushy hair, and knew she had not rested as well as he had after last night's historic events. He pulled her into a hug, and then held her at arms' length.

"Did you get my note?" Hermione enquired quietly.

"Yeah, and it's a good thing too. You really shouldn't have left like that, 'Mione. You're lucky that everyone else was so… distracted, or there would have been a panic. You didn't say much though. Where were you all night? You look a mess."

Hermione sighed, and took another long look around the hall.

"It's such a long story, Harry. Where is Ron? Where are the Weasleys?"

Harry's face softened as he registered the agitated concern in Hermione's eyes.

"Back at the Burrow. They have to… make arrangements, I guess. I was going to head over there in another hour or so. Honestly though, I just don't know what to say or do. Mrs. Weasley is a mess, and Ron just seems to still be in shock. There are some house elves who made breakfast, if you want a bite to eat before we head over there. I doubt Mrs. Weasley will be up for much cooking."

Hermione shook her head distractedly. "No, I can't. I have other things I have to do. Listen, Harry, if you have a few minutes, I have something I need to show you… it will explain what I was doing last night."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing as he followed Hermione out of the Hall and out of the building. They walked across the grounds, and he recognized the healers he had seen earlier standing near the Whomping Willow, speaking quickly in lowered voices. He turned to look at Hermione inquiringly. She stopped to respond to his unspoken question.

"Yes. I don't know how, and I won't even try to claim that my pathetic healing skills had much to do with it, but, mystery of mysteries Harry, _he's alive._ He's a mess, but I was able to get him through the night. I asked the healers to accompany me back. He has to get to St. Mungo's, and it needs to be somewhat quiet, because despite everything you said last night, I'm not so sure the rest of the wizarding world is going to be so accommodating for Professor Snape."

Harry stared at her in shocked silence. She returned his gaze, and her eyes pleaded with him. Would he still feel the same hatred towards Snape as he had always done? Or would his feelings towards the Potions' Master have changed so drastically in the course of one evening? She had hardly slept a wink all night in the shack, despite her exhaustion. Lingering in the back of her mind was a feeling of misery, of deep, dragging, mournful sadness that she refused to recognize. She could not mourn for the loss of her friends, for the sadness she knew Ron was feeling right now. She could not think about Remus and Tonks, and the cold, detached look on their faces as they had been lain out on the stone floor. She refused to acknowledge all the blood and stench of death she had witnessed the night before. The only blood she would allow herself to consider was that of the one person she felt she might save.

An obsession was growing from deep within her, though she refused to acknowledge it as such. She did not want to have to deal with all the pain and misery that she knew she would have to, at some point, accept. With that acceptance would surely come some peace in knowing that it was over, all of it. But before she would be able to have that peace, she would have to deal with every piece of the pain she had witnessed, and she just couldn't do it yet. Her sharp mind danced away from the thoughts, and avoided them. Instead, every thought was focused on her new project; something that could give her purpose, make her feel as though her efforts for the past few years had not resulted in so much horror. If she could take one of the great tragedies of this whole wizarding mess of a war, and turn it into a happy story somehow, she would give every last breath to make it come true. She could not deal with any of the pain until she could somehow find a way to make everything okay for Professor Snape.

Perhaps it was the fact that for the first time in weeks, Harry had finally had a decent night of sleep; Maybe the sudden dullness of his scar allowed the rest of his mind to suddenly register the rest of the world better than before. It might have even been his not-just-near-but-actual-death the night before that had granted him some form of clarity. Regardless of the cause, standing in front of Hermione's trembling form as she begged him without words to understand, he was able to do so. He could see not only that this meant so much to her, but he could also understand why. She was not able to accept or handle the reality of last night's events yet, and this was her way of staying sane.

After a few moments of quiet consideration while studying Hermione's face, Harry simply nodded. Relief washed over her, and then she schooled her face into one of determination.

"Alright. I stayed with him through the night in the shack, but now we've got to get him to the hospital, and it needs to be a quiet affair. Once he is safely under the eye of a few trained healers, we can figure out how to spare him from the wrath of the Ministry, and Azkaban."

Harry considered this for a moment. "Everyone has a lot on their hands at the moment, so it may take a few days for anyone from the ministry to find out about Snape anyway. You lead the healers up to him, and then get him out of the shack, so that he can be apparated to the hospital. Once you've got him settled in there, meet me back in Dumble… in the Headmaster's office. I'm going to have a long talk with Dumbledore's portrait and see if he has any ideas on how we can handle this."

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "Harry, don't you want to see Snape? Come with us!"

Harry simply shook his head, and then looked sadly at her. "Hermione, he won't want to see me right now. Think about it. Seeing me is just going to make things harder for him right now, and as it stands, he's got a lot he's going to have to deal with. Plus, until last night, I never realized how much I reminded him of my mum."

Hermione blinked, and then absorbed this insight. "Yeah, I guess you're right." After a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. "Okay, I'm going to lead the healers in then. I hope I won't be gone any longer than an hour but… I honestly don't know. I'll meet you in the office; I still remember the password," she ended with a grimace.

They nodded at each other seriously, then went their separate ways.

* * *

An hour later, Hermione knocked timidly on the door to the Headmaster's office. A voice from within told her to come in, and she hesitantly opened the door. Inside she found Harry sitting on a chair in front of the Headmaster's desk, having a serious discussion with a certain twinkle-eyed portrait.

"Ah, Miss Granger! And how is our dear Professor?"

"Hello, Headmaster. He is doing better than could be expected, although the only way I could convince the healers at St. Mungo's to treat him was to hold him in a high security room with all kinds of charmed doors." Hermione took another seat next to Harry.

Harry eyed her carefully. "Did they say anything about turning him over to the Ministry, or sending him off to Azkaban?"

Hermione sighed. "They said that once he was in stable health, which will probably only take 2 or 3 days, they felt obligated to inform the ministry of his presence. Truth be told, he wasn't really helping matters. He seems unable to speak right now, but… well, he can still sneer."

Harry rolled his eyes, and the portrait chuckled merrily, mumbling something that sounded faintly similar to "Attaboy, Severus!"

Harry and Hermione began to discuss what they could do to defend Severus once the Ministry was informed of his survival. After debating for sometime, they decided the best course of action was offence, as opposed to defence, and that they would inform Kingsley Shacklebolt later in the day. Perhaps if they explained the whole story to him, and asked him, as a private favour from the Boy Who Lived Yet Again (Harry shuddered at this), if he might take up the matter personally, he would be able to handle it with all the necessary delicacy. They also wanted to be sure that if it appeared things might be swaying against Snape, that he would at the very least be given a fair trial.

In the meantime, Hermione decided to take it upon herself to begin preparing the necessary evidence to prove Snape's innocence in the event of a trial. As she wondered aloud whether Pensieves were acceptable as a form of evidence, Dumbledore's portrait merrily cut in.

"Ah, I am so glad you asked that Miss Granger. As a matter of fact, Pensieve testimonies are not commonly used in court, due to their very biased natures. While one cannot easily create a false memory without it being quite obvious to the viewer," at this he nodded knowingly to Harry, "they can still be tainted in some unrecognizable form by the individual whose memory is being observed. Therefore, they are not accepted by the Wizengamot without corroboration by a memory presented from another witness present at the same event recorded in the Pensieve."

Harry's face fell, and Hermione's shoulders slumped. With a tired voice, Harry began describing Snape's memories he had viewed the night before to Hermione. As they considered each memory that would be relevant in exonerating the Professor, they dejectedly began to realize that while many of them had other wizards present, through the course of the war, each other wizard was now dead. Most importantly, the only other wizard who could provide true evidence in defence of Snape was now twinkling merrily at them from his portrait, which, in and of itself, proved the futility of their plan.

"If that is the case, Headmaster, then how can we prove his innocence? I can only imagine they will not accept the testimony of a Wizarding portrait, no matter how lifelike it may be," Hermione stated sadly. Her hope was beginning to fade, and that hope was the only thing protecting her from the deep grief that she was avoiding. "Even if we did try to count on the possible ability of Harry's particular present fame to lend strength to his own testimony, they will undoubtedly presume that he has simply been misled himself."

"Well now, young students. There is no need to look so woebegone. You don't really think I would leave Severus without any sort of defence were this occasion to arise, now do you? I have quite a few secrets stored behind my back!" Dumbledore's knowing chuckles were beginning to aggravate Hermione. Just as she was about to snap at the former Headmaster that his utility was beginning to prove overestimated, his portrait swung forward, revealing a small opening. Harry stood in bewilderment, and reaching deep within the once hidden chamber, he pulled out a small wooden box. Upon opening the box, he found several vials containing an immediately familiar silvery liquid. In shocked disbelief, he looked up at the portrait that had now swung back to its previous location.

"Headmaster, are these what I think they are? Are these your very own memories?"

Dumbledore chuckled again before explaining. "Why yes, they most certainly are. There are quite a few different memories there, though none of them should hold any more surprises for you. While I do not precisely know what Severus' memories contain, I have little doubt that at least a few of ours must overlap."

With a bright-eyed look of wonder, Hermione gazed gratefully at the portrait. "You know, Headmaster, I have a sudden urge to paint a still life of sherbet lemons to decorate this office."

Dumbledore clapped giddily.

* * *

Severus eyed the healer standing closest to him with supreme indignation. Surely she did not think he was fool enough to ingest that ridiculous excuse for a potion she held in her hand. Despite all her exasperated assurances that the draught would aid in the healing of his vocal cords, she had not specified when it was made, or if the ingredients used to concoct it were of the freshest available, and until she could read his mind and answer his unspoken questions, the trademark Snape Sneer would not budge. He had been confined to this intolerable bed within this stuffy, darkened hospital room for all of 24 hours, and he had already begun to regret his decision to allow the Granger Know-it-All to convince him to be carried here.

The healer in question threw her hands in the air in frustration, and placed the potion on his nightstand. As she strode towards the charmed door and tapped her wand to the charmed keyhole, she mumbled something about it being better that his vocal cords never healed, so that she would not have to deal with his undoubtedly insufferable complaints for the rest of his stay. She let herself out, glaring down at Snape, curtly saying as she left, "You know, you were truly a miserable instructor when I was at Hogwarts. It's obvious to me that you have healed completely, since you are now behaving _exactly_ as you did when I was in your intolerable potions classroom!"

Severus smirked at her as she huffed out the door, and slammed it shut. He appreciated the compliment.

There were few things Snape hated more than being treated like an invalid. It was his intention to retain at least some of his pride, and be sure that all the staff at St. Mungo's who knew of his presence would positively hate him by the end of the day. He much preferred their hatred to their pity.

While he was silently considering the benefits of being stuck in a high security room, where no one could visit him, he heard the familiar click of the charmed door being opened again. He turned to snarl mightily at the healer, just to see if he could cement her disgust of him, and was surprised to see the stately Kingsley Shacklebolt enter the room. He eyed the Minister carefully, as the gentleman in question walked gracefully to the side of Snape's bed, and pulled up a chair. He seated himself comfortably before turning his dark eyed gaze to Severus, who returned the look with schooled caution.

Kingsley considered Snape for a long time, never dropping eye contact. When he opened his mouth to speak, his deep voice was calm and quiet, despite the absence of any potential eavesdroppers.

"Dumbledore wanted you to end his life, Severus Snape. You allowed everyone to hate you and despise you, curse your name, and hunt you for a year, knowing that you had done everything you could to fulfill Dumbledore's wishes. Even with the death of the great mastermind of the Light, you still kept your oath to him. You kept your oath to the entire Order, even with the Oathkeeper dead, and all your colleagues believing you a traitor. There is no point in asking why you told no one. Had you told anyone, it is unlikely any of it would have been a success."

Snape dropped his eyes, crossed his arms, and shifted uncomfortably in his bed. Although Kingsley continued to calmly gaze at him, Snape could no longer meet his gaze. No matter how others might phrase it, he still felt like a murderer. Despite his lifelong desire for recognition, acceptance, and perhaps even validation for all his sacrifices, he still did not feel comfortable on the receiving end of commendation. The more justified others felt in awarding him with such praise, the more awkward it left him. He absent-mindedly began rubbing his dark mark, caught himself, and then sighed hoarsely. It did not matter how much praise was given, or due, him. The signifier on his forearm would forever taint every good deed he had done, proving that it was not from a kind heart, but out of guilt, shame, and a desire only to atone for his sins.

Kingsley remained quiet, and finally Severus reluctantly raised his eyes to meet the Minister's, and swallowing thickly, finally nodded with a grimace.

This seemed to be the gesture Kingsley Shacklebolt had been awaiting. He nodded formally, then stood, withdrawing his wand. Snape cautiously pulled farther back from the man in front of him, eyeing him with trepidation.

"Harry Potter and Hermione Granger came to me last night, and told me of all you have done. Though I had heard some rumors from the night before, I did not believe any of it. Even when Harry told me himself, insisting you were innocent and begging that I protect you, I still doubted the sanity of my young friend. Finally Potter and Granger produced two Pensieves. One contained a few select memories of your private conversations with Albus Dumbledore regarding his fate. The other produced the exact same memories, from the late Dumbledore himself. It seems he did not want to leave you defenceless in front of the Wizarding world, should you survive the final battle.

Miss Granger informed me that out of respect for you, she would prefer that I handle this delicate situation individually, instead of making these memories public. I am convinced of your innocence, Severus Snape, and therefore extend to you a full pardon for your previously accused crimes. In addition to this full pardon, I also would like to award you the honour of Order of Merlin, first class. The awarding ceremony will be in a few weeks. We have many new heroes to recognize."

With his speech complete, Shacklebolt tapped the bindings on Snape's bed with his wand, dissipating them. He then nodded respectfully at one very shocked Snape, and exited the room. Snape saw a shimmering effect on the door, and it swung open, all high security charms having been removed.

_Bloody hell,_ Snape thought to himself. _There goes my privacy. Now the Prophet will be scampering in here, photographing me in a hospital gown, and asking me all forms of ridiculous questions about the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. _

But he was wrong. Despite the announcement on the front page of the Prophet in a special evening edition that very night, no reporters came to bother the ex-Headmaster in his hospital gown, not even the nosy Rita Skeeter.

In fact, no one came to visit him at all.


	4. Chapter 4: Misericordia

A/N: Updating is slow not due to time constraints or lack of inclination, but moreso because I am slowly determining where I want this story to go. Therefore, I highly encourage feedback if you have enjoyed the tale so far - what do YOU think the next step should be? I have specific plot events that I will of course be addressing, but I'm pretty open and flexible on many other issues. It's kinda fun just to see where the story takes me - but definitely slow! :)

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**Chapter 4: Misericordia**

On the morning of Snape's supposed day of release from St. Mungo's, Hermione Granger came storming into his hospital room, looking frazzled and very stressed. She dropped her small beaded bag on the floor next to the bedside chair in which she seated herself. These two resounding thumps woke Snape from his uneasy sleep.

Hermione was fidgeting nervously, and examining everything in the room except for its other inhabitant. Snape pointedly rolled his eyes at her, and picked up a potions book he had started reading the day before, attempting to ignore the impertinent girl.

After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Hermione reached into her beaded bag and pulled out a notebook and a few quills, and placed them quietly on Snape's lap. He glanced at these items, and then raised one eyebrow in question at Hermione. She sighed.

"I just thought… well at least until you get your voice back, you could use this journal to write in your… requests. I have a companion journal of my own; anything you write in your journal will appear in mine. That way if you need me… or, uhm," She hesitated at his narrowing glare, "if you wanted anything from me, or something like that… Well, this way you can communicate with me."

Snape hmphed. Normally "hmph" is not a verb, but somehow, in the absence of any vocal abilities, Severus Snape had managed to invent his own new ways of communicating his annoyance, anger, and other various reflections of his displeasure.

"They are releasing you today," Hermione murmured absent-mindedly. Snape looked up again in interest. This was news to him. He thought he would have been required to stay a few more days, especially since he still had not regained control of his vocal abilities, but apparently the staff of St. Mungo's felt otherwise. He offhandedly wondered if it had anything to do with the healer on whom he had practised a few wordless jinxes, just to see if he still "had it". "Had it" he still did. _Invalid my arse,_ Snape thought smugly.

The silence was uncomfortable. Finally, with an annoyed sigh, Snape picked up the journal and a quill, and began writing inside of it. As he began writing, Hermione gave a small smile, and pulled her matching journal out of her bag to read his words.

_To where, exactly, am I being released?_ Snape had written.

"Wherever you choose, I suppose." Hermione responded softly. "Officially, you are a free wizard. You can return to your home, if you like."

Snape considered this information doubtfully. Spinner's End rarely, if ever, had felt like "home". The closest thing he considered to "home" was Hogwarts, but he had no doubt that particular destination was not to be made available to him anytime soon. With a resigned sigh, he shrugged, and slumped into his bed.

He had never given any thought to how his life would turn out if the Dark Lord were defeated. He had never really considered it, because he had never believed he would survive it. As he closed his eyes, and remembered his visit with Lily in the hazy park of his memories, he tried desperately to recall how she had convinced him to choose the path of life. So far as he could tell, he was still alone, hated, and now purposeless, practically homeless, and unemployed. The depression had begun to seep in the day before, when the unending line of annoying visitors he expected had never arrived. He quietly admonished himself for ever thinking anyone would stampede into his presence, wanting to know his story, caring one bit about anything he might have to communicate.

Hermione had been watching him carefully, but despite the parade of emotions going through Snape's mind, his face remained stoic and resigned. She purposely put all her personal woes and troubles in the back of her mind, where she preferred them to rest, and focused on the task at hand. As the engines of her sharp intellect began to work, she felt a certain relief work through her muscles; The distraction of her newest pet project was exactly what she needed, even if it was wreacking havoc on the rest of her life.

Ron couldn't understand. He was incapable of comprehending why helping the greasy git was of the utmost importance to her. All he seemed to recognize was that she was not there for her ginger haired companion in his time of need. The past year their affection for one another had become increasingly evident, culminating in their kiss at the Battle of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the deeply tragic and personal loss that Ron felt with the death of his brother had thrown all his attentions and affections for Hermione onto a back burner. Hermione had her own horrors to face, or deny if she so chose, so she did not begrudge him his own change of demeanor. What he needed now was comfort, a listening ear for his mourning, and a certain level of understanding. Harry had been spending as much time with the Weasleys as possible, to help them through their tragedy. Hermione, however, had not. Her obsession with helping Professor Snape had now come between them – it was her own way of dealing with tragedy, and she sought no comfort from others.

It wasn't exactly that Ron felt Snape did not deserve to live, or have a second chance. Logically, he knew that Snape deserved all these things, and likely more. However, the wounds in his heart would not allow him to feel anything but resentment towards the former Professor. He could not help but feel that there was some distinct injustice in the world, when a rude and seemingly heartless ex-Death Eater was able to be revived from death, but his own brother, who had never willingly done anything evil or dark, was being laid into the ground. The loss was palpable, and Ron was incapable of being objective regarding the matter.

Hermione did not help matters, but simply made them worse. Whenever she was around Ron and Harry, she continued to babble about what could be done to help Severus. Instead of helping Ron grieve and mourn, her distraction was leading to their distance. Still unable to face the horrors she had witnessed in the final Battle, Hermione resolutely stuck to her Snape-obsession. In the forefront of her mind, she knew she was hurting Ron; She was normally not so insensitive a person as to be ignoring him in his time of need. However, she continued to champion her cause, desperately and fanatically seeking respite from her pain in her own way. Mourning with Ron would require facing the pain that she was not ready to endure.

Thus, she sat in a chair next to Snape's sickbed, continuously trying to solve the problem of the Professor's future. Though she and Snape had not exactly become friends, their uneasy night in the shrieking shack had softened them enough towards one another that they could sit in somewhat amiable silence. While Severus was slightly resentful of her presence, knowing she had seen him in one of his most vulnerable moments, and hating that he felt a debt to her for staying with him that awful night in the shack, he found that when she was not babbling nonsensically, she was not entirely disagreeable. She had not looked at him with pity, which he would not have been able to bear. Instead, she seemed to eye him with a warm, but calculating look. The calculating he could relate to; it was only the warmth he found foreign. She had kept her emotions reigned in, and merely presented a logical mind bent on problem solving; The fact that he was the current "problem" she intended to "solve" was not lost on him, but he was too exhausted to begrudge her at the moment. In fact, though he would never admit it to her, nor even to himself, he was grateful for her presence on this day.

"I am terribly sorry I did not come to visit you yesterday," Hermione finally disrupted the uneasy silence. "I had some personal matters to attend to."

Snape shrugged noncommittally. He would never admit how he had missed her presence. It wasn't exactly her presence he had missed anyway. Though he was accustomed to being alone, he was still smarting from his expectation that after his pardon, others amongst the wizarding community might show any concern for his well-being. He felt like a fool, but would never admit this to anyone, Hermione least of all.

"Well then. I suppose our next step is to decide upon your next destination, after departing St. Mungo's," Hermione spoke in a falsely chipper voice, earning herself an eyeroll from Severus. "I understand you do have a house away from Hogwarts. Would you like to return there?"

Again, Snape shrugged with resignation. He supposed that was his only real choice at the moment. And, truth be told, he was anxious to return to his personal laboratory at home, so that he could begin the process of creating the potions necessary to heal the wounds and remaining injuries from his confrontation with Nagini. He had refused to ingest most of the draughts prepared for him by the healers at St. Mungo's, stubbornly refusing to relinquish his long held superstitions against potions made by any other than his own hand, and acknowledging that his own creations would undoubtedly provide better results, anyway.

"Well then, Spinner's End it is, I suppose. I will help you on your journey. I imagine it is still too soon for you to be attempting Apparition, so you can side-along with me, although now that I think about it, it will be tricky since I do not know what your home looks like, or where exactly it is, and I'm simply not sure if muggle methods…" Hermione's rambling was cut short by a piercing glare from Snape. In answer to her confused look, he began scribbling violently in the journal again.

_I have no need for your pity, Granger. Kindly bugger off. I'm quite sure I can manage on my own._

After reading these words, Hermione's head snapped up and she looked at Snape in shocked horror.

"You think… you think I _pity_ you?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Hermione let forth a desperate, mirthless half chuckle, and slumped down in her chair. She lowered her head over the journal again, and allowed her hair to hide her face. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, but Snape was aware that she seemed to be leaking things from her eyes, and he sighed in a very impatient manner.

She lifted her face, and looked him straight in the eyes. The redness around her own made him distinctly uncomfortable, but he found himself pierced by the clarity of her gaze. For the first time since that night in the shack, she seemed entirely… present. Normally she seemed distracted and slightly frantic, but for a brief moment, her calmness and sense of purpose shone through.

"I do not pity you professor. It never crossed my mind that I should. You neither require nor deserve my pity. Every step of your life for nearly the past decade, from what I can tell, has been meticulously calculated and planned. I have no doubt you expected death from the hands of Voldemort, though it would seem the antidotes you had perfected and created showed some hesitance of accepting that fate without some small manner of resistance. Every action you have taken suggests an acceptance of the consequences, however reluctant. While I may deem many circumstances of your life unjust, do not mistake my efforts on your behalf as _pity. _If you must categorize them in some way in order to accept them, deem them respect. You don't need my pity, but you deserve my respect."

She stood and gathered her things. As she walked to the door to leave, she paused, but did not turn around. Her parting words were spoken softly.

"If anything, Severus Snape, I would like for you to pity _me_. I realize that I probably do not deserve that either. But actions of pity are rarely deserved – they are merely given for lack of ability to impart anything better."

She quietly closed the door, and did not look back once to witness the angrily stunned look on Snape's face.

* * *

Much to Snape's satisfaction, Hermione did not return that day, and therefore he found himself politely dumped on the street outside of St. Mungo's, following his release. He was not unaccustomed to such treatment, so with only a small amount of resentment, he began his journey home.

Despite Hermione's concerns, he had no difficulty Apparating to Spinner's End, though he found himself exceedingly exhausted afterwards. He was mildly surprised to find the residence untouched by either the Ministry of rogue Death Eaters, but he did not let down his guard as he began checking the premises and the rooms for any malevolent traps or spells.

Having found no magical residues unfamiliar to him, he relaxed into one of his threadbare armchairs with a dusty potions text and a freshly brewed cup of coffee. He was unable to concentrate on the book in hand, and instead found himself wondering how in the name of Merlin he should proceed in the next phase of his life.

It gave him no pleasure to reach the realization that due to spending the majority of his adult life either directed by or torn between two masters, he was not prepared for his newfound independence. He was perfectly capable of reacting to orders given by others; Determining his own directives from scratch, however, found him at a loss that was very humbling to address. The limitations of health, age, and reputation restricted many potential avenues, and he had no friends, either false or hidden, to connect him one way or another. Despite the "respect" Miss Granger insisted he deserved, he had little doubt that she was among a very small, if not indeed singular, population that felt this particular way.

Pulling out the journal given to him by the very same Hermione he dreaded contacting, he sighed and set it on his lap. As he began mentally composing a suitable request that would not completely disgust him, he was interrupted by a tapping on his window.

Disgruntled, and fairly suspicious, Severus stood to find a familiar eagle owl waiting at his window. He quickly opened the window, untied the parchment from the owl's outstretched leg, and with a piercing glare, sent the bird on its way with no reward for its journey. Unrolling the parchment, he read the enclosed words:

_Severus,_

_My dearest and oldest friend, I do hope this letter finds you well. I had considered sending an olive branch along with this parchment, but decided that the gesture would undoubtedly provide you little amusement at the current time. _

_No doubt your current situation has demanded far too much of your own attention for you to have realized that my family as well have been exonerated from all ridiculous charges initially presented to the Wizengamot. Regardless of our own exoneration, I have wisely chosen to toe the line, so to speak, and we remain, for lack of a better word, fairly quiet at present time. Therefore I do hope you will excuse my noted absence from your recent stay at St. Mungo's, but rest assured that I have been kept abreast of your situation. _

_Due to the nature of Wizarding society at the present moment, I find myself feeling rather nostalgic. The deaths of many of our mutual friends and enemies leaves me with a sense of ennui that I cannot seem to shake. Indeed, with no enemies such as the Dark Lord and his followers to surreptitiously undermine, and no friends to foster companionship and aid, I cannot help but wonder if my dear old friend suffers, much like myself, from a feeling of aimlessness. I humble myself by noting that I, at least, have a son and wife to guide my sense of purpose hereafter in life. _

_My dear friend, so much has passed between us in recent years, and I feel it is time for us to let bygones be bygones, and perhaps attempt to start afresh. You remain Draco's godfather, and the dearest hopes of myself and Narcissa are that you will not forever abandon your godson due merely to political differences that have been only recently exposed, and certainly exaggerated. Our ties and debts to one another are much deeper than mere politics. _

_I hope you will not let past prejudices taint your acceptance of my renewed offer of friendship. We were both undoubtedly suspicious of one another during our time working fervently, if discreetly, to bring the Dark Lord to his fateful end. Much like myself, there is much contention amongst popular opinion regarding your behavior over the past decade. I have no doubt that, much as I have done, all your efforts were directed towards aiding the fall of the Dark Lord. Though times are hard for those of us who sacrificed and risked the most to aid the cause, please allow me to extend a hand to you and offer you the use of any of my paltry resources in your future endeavors. I therefore hope that you will, at any time that might give you pleasure, visit our humble Manor and attempt to aid me in a mutual partnership._

_Your faithful friend, as always, _

_Lucius Malfoy_

Snape made no attempt to suppress his amusement at Malfoy's communication. Despite all his misgivings against the former Death Eater, he had to applaud the art of a fellow Slytherin. Setting aside the Hermione-journal, Snape smiled to himself, satisfied that at least for the moment, he had options for how to proceed. A visit to the Malfoy Manor did indeed seem long overdue, and in preparation, he decided it was time to focus his efforts on repairing his voice. Communication with Lucius was much more entertaining and amusing when it was two-way.

Opening his potions text with new determination, he began considering several concoctions that would improve upon the paltry efforts on behalf of the St. Mungo's staff.

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*Extra Special A/N For clarification (after all, not everyone can translate Slytherin-speak, eh?), a translation for the non-Slytherin among you:*

_Severus, _

_Hello there, you old bastard. Have you recovered enough from your stay at St. Mungo's to be of any use to me? I won't apologize for anything I've done in the past, nor do I expect you would accept an apology anyway._

_Since you probably haven't been paying much attention to circumstances outside of your own, Narcissa and I managed to get out of any official punishments for war crimes. Whatever. We didn't really do anything wrong, and Potter knows that if it hadn't been for Narcissa's actions that happened to work out in his favour as well, he never could have defeated the Dark Lord. Even in light of that fact, there are too many squeaky clean folks amongst the Ministry these days, so I have no say and no power. Our reputation, for the present time, remains highly tainted, and so we are justifiably laying low, waiting for a chance to rise again. For all intents and purposes, we are under an unofficial house arrest. I do still have some "friends" at St. Mungo's who let me know you were released today, however. _

_Now that the most powerful and useful of my former connections have been killed, it is time for me to start afresh and make new ones. In court, Narcissa and I insisted we had been fighting the Dark Lord the whole time, so if anyone asks, stick to that story. It seems you're pretty much in the same boat, though I guess your intentions were a bit more deeply set than our own. In the end we did what others deem to be "the right thing" anyway, so it all comes to the same thing regardless. You can sit around on your ass until you die (again) without any employment or connections if you like, but I have a family to take care of, and I need to do what I can to secure a future for Draco at least._

_Remember Draco? Your godson? You can hate me if you like, but I know you are just concerned about his future as I am. Therefore, no matter how much you and I may resent each other at the moment, I have a duty as a father to set that aside and do what I can to improve his life. As his godfather, it's your duty as well, sucker. Even if you were a traitor to the Dark Lord's cause, you still made a commitment to aid Draco's parents and take care of him. It's not like you have any offspring of your own to worry about, so you now get to share in my own concerns as a father. _

_Your reputation isn't quite as rotten as my own at this moment, or at the very least it is subject to more debate. However, I have more money than you. Therefore, we can probably be of mutual use to one another. Come over whenever, we have nothing else to do these days. _

_You owe me, _

_Lucius_


End file.
